


Airlocks and Cigar Smoke

by penpenhooray



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Basically Mob Boss Hux, Blood, Emperor Hux, Enforcer Phasma, Hux is Not Nice, Hux is savage, M/M, Slave Kylo, Slavery, Warlord Hux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 13:29:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6331066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penpenhooray/pseuds/penpenhooray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendol "First Order" Hux rules his empire with an iron fist, and even the criminal underworld does not escape his grasp. Even the most hardened slaver knows that to disrespect Hux is a death sentence, both metaphorically and literally.</p><p>Hux and Phasma pay a personal visit to a sex slaver who's been poaching in his territory. How very disrespectful indeed.</p><p>But the warlord can't help but be intrigued by the slave who's about to be thrown from the ship's airlock, with the slaver claiming the man is unbreakable, and a killer. Well, naturally Hux has to have the man for his own, regardless of who may protest (as if any would speak against him)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Airlocks and Cigar Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> So jathis on tumblr had this list of "Emperor Hux Sexual Fantasy" ideas that I stumbled upon. Naturally, like any good Kylux fan, I need more Emperor Hux. And sexy Kylo. Obviously.
> 
> My followers suggested that I tackle the idea: "I found you about to be blown out of an airlock for being disobedient and purchased you," and jathis also requested that I cover “I’m a powerful space warlord and you’re my prize.”
> 
> Naturally, being the greedy person I am, combined them.
> 
> ...Though that title is not very creative, I apologize. It's literally 12:30 right now for me.

The ship was a little more than than a moving trash heap held together by rust, scrap, shoddy welds, and no doubt several infectious diseases. Various vermin could be found in numerous nooks and crannies, scurrying to keep from underfoot of the crew.

 

Crisp clicking footsteps of chrome-plated combat boots cut through the rusty corridor’s silence, as well as its grime.

 

An incredulous scoff sounded after the footsteps stopped, “What a dump.”

 

“Now, Phasma, there’s no need to be rude to our host.”

 

Phasma readjusted her grasp on her weapon as she looked back to her employer. If the highly polished chrome of Phasma’s armor was out of place among the scrap and grime, the contrast was nothing compared to the immaculate boots and the custom tailored suit of Brendol “First Order” Hux.

 

Hux was what happened when a military genius staged a hostile takeover of an entire galaxy. Officially, he was emperor; unofficially, he was a living nightmare. There was a rumor floating around that the title “First Order” came from the fact that, when Hux gave an order, it was to be followed the first time. There was no second order.

 

“Sir, you really didn’t need to come. I could have easily addressed this on my own.” Phasma replied, walking a step behind Hux.

 

“I’m sure you could have.” Hux replied, making his way down the decrepit corridor. He did not get far before the captain of the ship rounded the corner.

 

The captain was a living reflection of the ship, a small rat-faced human (though it wouldn’t have been surprising if there were…other species muddying the bloodline)who wore sweat and grime like it was a second skin. A fact that became more apparent as the man made his way towards the two new comers.

 

“We’re so honored to be graced with your presence, your worshipfulness.” The man’s voice was harsh and nasally, grating against the taller man’s nerves. “What brings you to our humble—”

 

A single gloved hand rose to cut the captain off mid-sentence, the black leather forming a barrier as efficient as any shield. With slow, calculated movements, the emperor reached into his coat, and withdrew a single, slender Corellian cigar. As pale lips took hold of the cigar, Phasma didn’t hesitate, holding a lighter to tip.

 

The three stood in silence as the warlord puffed lightly on his cigar, the tip glowing amber under the flickering lights. Then, Hux took a long puff of his cigar, allowing it to linger before exhaling in a slow stream of smoke directly in the captain’s face.

 

“We both know why I’m here, captain.” Hux drawled, a bored expression etching his face as he rotated his cigar. “You’re in my territory, and you haven’t even thought to come pay homage.” Another slow exhale, smoke curling around the emperor’s sharp features, “If I didn’t know any better, I would think you were trying to encroach on my territory.”

 

“We would never—”

 

“I do hope you aren’t intending on lying to me.” Thin lips stretched into a smirk, “Word spreads fast in my empire, captain, so don’t think I don’t know about the slave trade you have operating from this… _ship_.” He spat the word out like so much bile. “And you know…all slaves run through me.”

 

The captain paled at Hux’s words, especially as they were punctuated by metallic shifting Phasma’s armor as the enforcer shifted her gun into a more fire-ready position. “Of—of course! Of course, your worshipfulness! And I was just about to bring me business to—”

 

“There you go again, lying to me.” By now, Hux appeared…amused. A dangerous expression indeed. “Now I can’t help but think you’re being disrespectful, captain.” The elegant fingers grasping the cigar reached out towards the captain, mere inches from the man’s nose. With a quick flick the ash that had begun to collect on the cigar fell onto the man’s grubby shirt. “And we both know what happens when people disrespect me.”

 

Before the slaver had a chance to utter his no doubt pathetic responses, the corridor began to boom with the echos of clattering metal and animistic shrieks. Guttural shouts soon followed, as well as the sicken sound of flesh striking flesh.

 

Hux’s amusement only seemed to grow, “Trouble with the merchandise, captain?” He mused, stepping past the cesspool of a captain as he made his way further down the corridor, Phasma on his heels and the captain scurrying after them.

 

It didn’t take very long to find the source of the racket, as the warlord rounded the corner with his enforcer by his side. It was more than clear to see (or rather, to hear) that the two hulking grunts were the source of the more…well, grunting, disturbances, and it was obvious the muscles modeled their cleanliness after their captive.

 

But Hux didn’t particularly care about a pair of mindless thugs. Those were a credit a dozen.

 

But the victim of their brutality, not so much.

 

A slave, stripped completely bare of whatever rags had previously served as clothing. Male, obviously…very obviously, as Hux allowed his eyes to roam down a chiseled abdomen and rest between the slave’s muscular thighs. His gaze may have lingered a bit longer than necessary before returning, slowly, to a more…respectable view. He obviously hadn’t been in the slaver’s possession very long, if his…physical condition was anything to go by, still hearty and hale enough that Hux could see the definition of each of his taught muscles from the other end of the corridor.

 

And, judging by the blood dripping from the man’s mouth and nose (and oh, Hux hoped the size was due to swelling) and the fact that not all of it appeared to be his, the slave was a fighter.

 

One of the grunts had taken to holding the slave’s arms behind his back while the other delivered a series of punches to the solar plexus. The slave, in turn, threw his head back with such force that Hux could hear the thug’s already crooked nose cracking once more.

 

“You bitch!” No doubt the thug would have sounded somewhat menacing if his broken nose didn’t interfere with his speech pattern. Now he simply sounded congested. “Glad to be rid of you once an’ fo’ all!”

 

Hux’s view was obscured when the captain decided to rear his ugly head once more (quite literally), stepping in front of the warlord’s path, “Oh, you don’t need to see this, your excellence. Just taking out some trash.”

 

Hux raised an curious eyebrow, “I take it the slave is not up to standard?”

 

The captain seemed to deflate of his previous tension, interpreting the question as genuine interest in the business, “Yes, this one came from a bad stock, a bad purchase, I’m afraid. Too wild, won’t break.” The captain sneered, “He’s already killed one of my crew, there’s no selling him. So he’s going out the airlock.”

 

If that man had belonged to another slaver and had been a purchase, than Hux was a Hutt. Again with the lies… how annoying…

 

And to take a slave that looked like _that_ and toss him, literally, out the airlock?

 

Morons.

 

“How much?”

 

The captain blinked stupidly (not much different from everything else he had done), “What?”

 

Hux rolled his eyes, exhaling another plume of smoke in the man’s face, “I didn’t realize you were hard of hearing, captain. I said… _how much_?”

 

The captain stared at Hux as if he had grown a second head (and the nerve—implying that the warlord had Troig blood)for several long moments. As the captain’s mind sluggishly attempted to catch up with Hux’s words, the slave in question was proving to be quite the handful to the two crewmen who were attempting to throw him out the airlock.

 

And, judging by the fact that one thug was now missing an ear, and the blood beginning to coat all three combatants, Hux didn’t doubt that the slave was indeed a killer.

 

Hux could work with that.

 

“Twenty thousand credits.”

 

A scoff escaped the emperor, smoke curling around his face, “Do you take me for a fool, captain? I wouldn’t pay that much for the best trained bitch that you might have lurking around this cesspool.” The emperor’s amusement evaporated faster than an open canteen in a Tatooine summer, his cold eyes drilling into the slaver, “So you’re going to think _really_ hard, I know it might be difficult for you, and you’re going to make me another offer. If it is a good offer, I’ll think about not blowing your ship to smithereens for your… _disrespect._ _”_

The quiet that followed (save for the scuffle by the airlock) lingered in the air like the emperor’s cigar smoke. And while the captain’s brow began to bead with sweat, Hux’s gaze remained steady, watching the slaver carefully.

 

Finally the captain gulped nervously, “Consider him a gift.”

 

Hux smirked, “Now that wasn’t so hard, now was it?” The warlord turned his attention to his enforcer, “Phasma, if you would.”

 

“Right sir.”

 

Two shots crackled through the air, followed shortly by the thump as two heavy bodies hit the floor, leaving the slave standing alone, shoulders heaving with labored breaths. Phasma wasted no time in lowering her blaster and moving to the slave’s side, leading him by the arm before he recovered from shock.

 

“We’ll be leaving now.” Hux turned on his heel, already walking down the corridor. As Phasma followed with the roughed up slave, Hux lifted his cigar hand, waving over his shoulder without looking back, “Goodbye captain. I’m so glad we could come to an agreement.”

 

Once they were out of hearing range of the captain, Hux finally spoke his new “gift,” never once looking back, “If you try and resist, I will have Phasma shoot you. Understood?”

 

Only a ragged cough answered him.

 

“Sir, I don’t think him fighting will be an issue at the moment.”

 

Sparing a glance back, Hux could see that the slave had suffered more serious wounds than previously thought, if the way he was favoring one side was any indication.

 

“Well, I’m glad you’re being so cooperative then.” He smirked, rotating his cigar before turning his gaze forward once more.

 

The three walked in silence (save for the occasional blood-filled expectoration from the newly acquired slave), leaving a trail of blood and cigar smoke all the way back to the warlord’s personal vessel.

 

It wasn’t until they stepped aboard the luxury cruiser, the hatch closing behind them, that Phasma finally spoke.

 

“It’s not like you to be so merciful towards insolence, sir.” The enforcer shook her head, giving the commands to the pilots to prepare for take off.

 

The warlord didn’t reply right away, taking his sweet time to settle in his favorite chair and enjoy his cigar. It was only after several puffs left Hux’s mouth (and the ship had departed the slaver’s hangar bay in the interim), that Hux spoke again.

 

“You know me better than that, Phasma.” He smirked, letting loose a long, thin stream of smoke that seemed to dance above his head, “Destroy the ship the moment we are clear.”

 

There was a startled, raspy gasp by Phasma’s feet. The slave (who had finally succumbed to his injuries enough to no longer stand), looked at Hux with a surprised expression, “But you said—”

 

“I said I’d _think_ about not destroying them.” Hux gingerly tapped his cigar ash off into the ash tray beside his seat, “And I did. Briefly.” He turned his attention back to the slave, watching him carefully, “Unless of course…you would _want_ me to spare them?”

 

Rage, it seemed, was a very good look on this slave, especially when the reds of blood wounds not yet bruises set such a lovely contrast against his milky skin and dark, wild hair. And seeing the blood painted sneer on the man’s face was…more than pleasing to Hux.

 

“Blow them out of the kriffin’ galaxy.” Came the bitter, cold reply.

 

Hux smirked at the response as he allowed his gaze to roam his new slave more closely.

 

The wounds were not life threatening, that much was obvious, merely incapacitating. He’d still be seen my Hux’s personal physician anyway. But other than the temporary blemishes, the slave’s body appeared healthy…though Hux would have to test that further.

 

The hair had been neglected of the slaver-standard close shave, but Hux couldn’t bring himself to mind. If anything, he wouldn’t mind allowing it to grow just a bit longer.

 

Good for grabbing.

 

“Tell me,” Hux put his cigar to his lips slowly, “What is your name, or should I come up with a new one for you?”

 

Apparently indignation was also a pleasing expression on the slaves face, lips and nose twitching at the implication of Hux renaming him. “My name…is Kylo…Kylo Ren.”

 

Hux watched the slave, Kylo, carefully, his eyes drifting to every minute expression on his face.

 

“No, it’s not.”

 

The slave’s mouth was already open to vehemently protest, only to find Hux’s gloved finger sealing his lips.

 

“I’m not about to force you to tell me now.” Hux replied, puffing on his cigar slowly, “It’ll spoil the mystery for later.”

 

“I’m not some toy for you to play with!” Kylo hissed, sounding stronger than his injuries would suggest.

 

“Toy?” The emperor looked down at the slave, an eyebrow quirked in amusement as the smoke escaped his lips. “Oh no, dear Kylo, I think you misinterpret your position completely…”

 

If he had wanted a toy, he’d play with one of his many would-be-paramours back at his capitol. Toys were meant to pass the time, then promptly be forgotten when something important came around. Toys were for those who got _bored_. Toys were for those who had nothing better to do with their time.

 

Hux did not like toys.

 

But he was very much beginning to like Kylo.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still amazed that this fic is so short. I thought for sure it would hit 3k. Oh well. This is originally meant to be a oneshot, but if you guys have any suggestions on what could continue the story, I may consider it (but those of you who follow my fics know I'm pretty committed to Wake Up, Sleeper...whatever, where there's a will, there's a way!)
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think, you know your comments give me life!


End file.
